


Hard times for Dreamers

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Until it isn't, regent sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She shouldn't feel saddened by his outward lack of affection. Outside of their separate chambers Jon was a good, dutiful husband. He tried to see the logic behind her requests, agreeing on the importance of Bran sitting with them during the morning petitions, and riding out to Wintertown to visit the smallfolk. They rarely fought, and when they did an easy compromise was often found. More importantly he was kind, which was something she had long come to accept as impossible in a husband.</p><p>Sansa is Bran's Regent and she starts to suspect perhaps she and her husband have built their marriage on a misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard times for Dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up on a ficlet I did regarding a headcanon that Jon waits for Sansa to fall asleep before he lets himself follow suit. It's set like two years after, Sansa is Bran's Regent and she starts to suspect perhaps she and her husband have built their marriage on a misunderstanding.

Sansa pressed her shoulders back against the chair. Fixing her attentions on the grizzled petitioner before them. Bran could hardly focus on the man's words about his crops, staring blankly at the wall. Certainly many of the requests were petty, easy fixes but if the people of the North considered them valid then they would be heard. 

Her lord husband sat to the right of her brother. After the fifth petitioner of the day Sansa chanced a look at him. Jon was still a young man, but he looked worn and tired beyond his years in his seat. Bruises were forming under his eyes from lack of sleep. She wondered what it was that kept him up at night, surely it was not her.

"How many more are there?" Bran asked her as midday drew near.

"Only a few," she promised. Sansa never dismissed the grievances early if she could help it. It was important that the Starks, namely Bran, remind the smallfolk why they had fostered loyalty for so long. She had one more year to do so, before Bran came of age, no longer his Queen Regent only his sister. 

The Umbers were scuffling about the presence of Wildlings so close to their lands, she had seen Jon tense about the matter before. It was his doing, allowing them past the Wall when he was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. Jon had treated with Mance Rayder and Greatjon Umber personally in the past to settle matters. "The Wildlings were still new to this way of life and it would take time," she reminded the man on behalf of her husband. "There is little else to be done, now is a time to be patient." That was not the strongest suit of most northern men.

The Umbers were their final grievance, Bran dismissed the court and Sansa waited until everyone was gone before she rose. Jon shifted Bran from the throne to his chair and wheeled him from the Great Hall for their midday meal. Maester Samwell was sitting with Rickon when they entered Bran's solar. The Maester looked exasperated and Rickon was deliberately feeding Shaggydog chunks of bread and meat under the table. She had opened her mouth to tell him to stop, when she noticed his motions ended abruptly. Following his eyeline she noticed Jon's warning stare, it was nice to have someone on her side.

He took a seat beside her after easing her chair closer to the table. She had stopped sighing sadly when her husband hadn't shown an interest in touching her. Before the wedding she had entertained the idea that they could come to share affection for one another, but he hadn't bedded her on their wedding night and only came to her once every fortnight since, when the maester said she was most likely to get with child. She wondered why he chose her when he would obviously be happier if he had chosen a proper highborn maid. A woman who he could bear to see without her shift; not that he said as much to her, but she knew the marks on her back were a reminder that she was damaged. 

She shouldn't feel saddened by his outward lack of affection. Outside of their separate chambers Jon was a good, dutiful husband. He tried to see the logic behind her requests, agreeing on the importance of Bran sitting with them during the morning petitions, and riding out to Wintertown to visit the smallfolk. They rarely fought, and when they did an easy compromise was often found. More importantly he was kind, which was something she had long come to accept as impossible in a husband.

"Maester, could we go to the library again today?" Bran asked pulling Sansa from her thoughts.

"Bran I'm sure Maester Samwell has important duties to attend to today." Sansa chided, turning her focus to the stew Gilly had brought to the solar. She had probably taken to the nursery for the time, Sansa enjoyed taking her afternoons for herself.

"It's no trouble your Grace; I'm sure there are more ledgers that I could find with the daylight behind me." Sam assured her "Perhaps I could find something there to hold the prince's interest as well." He glanced to Rickon, who was glowering over his stew. 

"I hate lessons." Rickon declared, throwing his spoon into the bowl. "They're boring, if I'm a prince why do I need lessons?" It was an old argument, Rickon had been near raised in the outdoors on Skaagos, he longed to be outside, and often put up a fight against the Maester. 

"You won't be allowed to represent the North without your lessons," Jon explained repeating words Sansa herself had said many times before. "Some day you'll have a keep of your own. You can't do that if you can't write your name," Jon's explanations often sounded more practical than Sansa's even though the sentiment was nearly the same.

"Fine," he shoved his bowl to the side. "I don't want to leave Winterfell! Bran gets to stay, so does Sansa, so do you!" The trembling sent her into action, _old habits_. Sansa rose quickly, to crouch at her brother's side. Smoothing his hair that was so like hers, and Robb's, she tried to calm him down.

"There is plenty of time before you are of age sweetling," she said gently, it was one thing she wouldn't let him fear. Leaving. Sansa would never let her brother go too far. "You _must_ learn though, would you like me to sit in on your lessons?" 

"I want Jon," Rickon said. She shouldn't be surprised, it was Jon who took Rickon and Bran riding in the Wolfswood, and practiced swords with Rickon. They ran to Jon with their good deeds, and accomplishments, craving his pride and praise. She was happy, truly that they loved Jon and trusted him, even though he was not their brother. 

"Sansa was always the best at lessons," Jon said to Rickon who was still pouting. Was she so transparent that he could read her so clearly? "If she says you've behaved we can go riding after," Jon offered until Rickon nodded in agreement.

"Can we go today?" Jon sighed, scrubbing at his beard, and Sansa held back the urge to place her hand over his on the table. 

"Not today, I'm afraid this morning took quite a bit out of me," he glanced at Sam, who seemed to understand what Jon hadn't said. She sighed, their marriage may be one of convince but she did wish Jon would confide in her on occasion. When their dishes were clear Sansa rose to make for the Godswood, Sam and Bran followed to go to the library. Before they left Sam paused to speak with Jon.

"Perhaps sweetsleep would help," she hesitated in the doorway to hear Jon refuse. She sighed in relief, nothing good could come from that. "You must let me do something, it doesn't seem like they're getting better." The maester protested.

"It will pass, they come and go." Jon shook his head, brushing his friend off. Sansa took her leave at that, Jon would include her if he wanted her to know. Ghost stayed at her side, preferring the Godswood to most places in Winterfell. She cut through the courtyard, grey skirts dusting the earth. The keep as a whole was still in disrepair. It seemed that ash would always come to settle at her hem, and stain Ghost's paws, but they were making progress. 

Jon supervised the builders some days, but more often than not he rolled up his sleeves and worked alongside them. The Great Hall had been repaired by the time she had left Winterfell for Kings Landing, for her wedding. Repairs to the Great Keep were underway at the time, and when she returned they were nearly finished. The Queen's gold, Lannister gold, Bolton gold, it had all gone toward the restoration of Winterfell.

Builders bowed as she passed; men from an assortment of places. It was not the same Winterfell she had grown up in. Northern loyalties had been reborn with Jon and his wildling alliances, and Sansa with her own. It would be Bran's duty to work with the new comers, and listen to his hand. To Jon. 

Men of the Vale had lingered, some had left their homes to find glory, others because they knew her father or her mother. They had poured themselves into the rebuilding of the keep, it was only right they stay. A handful of Jon's wildlings remained as well, hauling and using old techniques to get the keep restored. Day by day the walls surrounding the keep rose. 

Entering the Godswood felt like leaving the world behind. She wasn't a woman thrice married, a Queen Regent, a lady, a princess, only Sansa. She loved the smell of the summer snow, the bubbling of the hot springs, she loved taking off her gloves and feeling the bark of the weirwood under her hands. It felt familiar. Safe. 

Ghost settled himself at her feet when she sat before the tree. Resting his head on his paws. He was laying close enough to keep her warm, another comfort. She was thankful that her husband didn't mind sharing his wolf. Everyone said the Wall was a lonely place, she could imagine having a wolf would have provided some comfort.

Once she had prayed to the Old Gods to bring her home. Then for the safety of her family. She'd prayed before the Seven at each of her weddings, for good marriages, for sons and daughters. She had time, she knew. She was still young, she could give Jon children. She would not have to send them to the Dragon Queen as heirs, now that she had given birth to an heir of her own, they would truly be her own. Jon would never let harm come to their children. If only he would come to her.

She sat at the base of the tree until the summer snow sank into her boots. Her knees tensed, stiff from the cold. Ghost took off when he heard the snap of twigs leading to the tree. When he returned Jon was beside him. Her husband hesitated, "I did not mean to disturb you my lady."

 _Don't be foolish_ , she wanted to say; _you could never disturb me_. Instead she shook her head, "It is as much your place as it is mine, my lord." She brushed the snow from her skirts, "I was just leaving."

"I'll walk with you," he said, offering her his arm. _Odd_.

"Don't you wish to pray?" Wasn't that the reason he'd come to this place? He shook his head.

"I was trying to clear my head," she took his arm. "I can see you back to the keep." His hand covered hers as they walked through the wood. This late in the day he was usually with the builders, or out riding. Sometimes they walked together in the evenings, if she happened to be leaving the springs as he left the Godswood. Their conversations were always pleasant, and polite, she wished she knew more about her husband, but did not want to ask any unwanted questions. As his wife she was meant to make his life easier, not bombard him with silly curiosities about his life at the Wall and beyond.

"Is everything all right my lord?" she wondered as they approached her rooms. She remembered the maester earlier in the day, _sweetsleep_. "Perhaps you should rest, the builders could be without you for a day." Convincing him of such a thing would be difficult, she had never met a man who held to his duty as Jon did.

"I'm fine, nothing a nights rest won't cure." She should have left it at that, but her traitorous hand went to his face, and without her consent her thumb traced his unmarred cheekbone. His brow furrowed when the shock faded. It was that look that sent a chill up her spine. 

Sansa would have jerked her hand away had it not been for that. He'd looked at her like that the night of their wedding; she'd been unable to name it then, but had no real need to as she hadn't seen it upon his face since. Instead she allowed herself to truly gaze upon her husband. Strange, they'd not been married more than two years but she so scarcely allowed herself to look at the man she had once called her brother, _half-brother_ she corrected quickly. "I worry about you," she said softly, had they not been so close she might have thought he couldn't hear her.

"You don't need to my lady," he said bringing his hand up to hers and for an instant she felt the familiar flutter in her chest. _Hope_ , but it was foolish as it always was. There was no exchange of sweet words, he hadn't tipped his mouth down to catch hers. She had no words to keep him there, or perhaps she had them and was too frightened to say them aloud; regardless, Jon excused himself shortly after, extracting her hand with his own. That night as she fell asleep she could still feel the warmth of it and it made her heart ache.

If her behavior affected him it did not show. He never tried to cover her hand with his own as they broke their fast, or sent her meaningful glances as they heard petitioners. After that stare she began to look for a sign that she had not imagined his attentions. That perhaps she was not alone in her want for a marriage that held more than polite exchanges, and purposeful coupling. If she was alone in her want she was sure she could temper it, she had done so before. It was when she began looking for proof that she realized perhaps her suspicions were correct.

It was hard to see, but once she noticed she was unable to stop. His thumb traced circles around the back of her chair, as though it were her own skin, when he nudged it closer to the round table. She had started to see it when they sat in the lady of the keep's solar, a room Sansa had not taken for herself, and looked over ledgers some afternoons. Then she saw it during mealtimes as well, too often and deliberate to be accidental, and how she longed to let him. Before he brought clothes for mending, he always _asked_ if she minded, and she truly believed she had a choice in the matter, which made her feel foolish because of course Jon would give her a choice, he always had. She thought of the cautious way he handled her when they coupled, never touching her too firmly although she knew he would never truly harm her; and after he would always stay long enough that she could fall asleep pressed against him. Perhaps he pretended they were in love in those moments as well.

Her moon blood had come and gone and as she soaked in the spring she could feel anticipation bubbling in her belly. _May I call on you this evening my lady?_ If she said no there would be no consequence, yet he always asked even though she always agreed. It would not do to be anxious, so instead she tipped her head back against the ledge and tried to level her breathing. If he realized her nerves Jon might misread them, as she suspected he had been, and she could not bear to to lose this new hope she had for them. She rushed to redress herself, trying to protect herself from the crisp night air

Gilly waited for her just beyond the springs and coaxed her laces into a more modest state before they set out for the main keep. Sansa saw a glow from the library, too squat to be considered a tower anymore, Jon and the maester were likely still at work. The fire had died down in her chambers when they returned, and while Gilly stoked the fire Sansa worked to unpin her hair. Sansa hated to keep her so late, for her little boy would likely be asleep by the time she returned to her quarters. 

The girl was a wildling once but her time at Horn Hill had instilled some propriety in her, Sansa supposed. The only request the maester had made of Jon was to retrieve her, Gilly had worked in the kitchens at the Red Keep when the maester lived there; when he left the south so did Gilly and her boy, Sansa did not need much of a maid, and was pleased for the company the girl offered.

Gilly was pulling a brush through her hair when she said, "he's worried about Lord Snow, my Sam." Sansa fixed her stare on the girl in her mirror. 

"Why is that?"

"Says he's been having trouble sleeping," Gilly said dragging the brush through her hair. "Always has I think, ever since everything happened." Everything was the easiest way of saying that he'd been nearly killed by men of the watch, that he had fought the others and won when so many had not. The times he did sleep beside her she hadn't noticed his trouble; although he never stayed beside her for the night. At first she thought he left for dawn drills, then she woke in the middle of the night to find him gone. At the time she believed it was because he couldn't bear the thought of such a broken wife beside him.

Gilly helped her into her dressing gown and Sansa dismissed her. She poured herself some wine and sat before the hearth. The wait for him to arrive was worse than it had ever been, her newfound knowledge of Jon's affection, paired with Gilly's information had Sansa weighing her options carefully. She hadn't quite made up her mind when Jon knocked on the door leading into her chambers. 

"Good evening my lady." It always started like this, she offered him a glass of wine and he waited on the bench for her. She returned with a second glass and sat beside him, closer than she once had. She would try to make her intentions clear, lest she surprise him. 

"Bran said you took him riding today,"

"Aye, to Wintertown. We received grain from the reach today. They were happy to see their King, although they prefer to see you with him," he said. She smiled at that.

"And Rickon's lessons?" 

"Fine, Sam said he was better behaved than usual. Nervous that you'll be around to check on him I'd say." Jon answered setting the glass down, she followed suit. Next came the ever polite invitation to the bed, and that was when she noticed the hesitant way his hand hovered at her dressing gown, wanting to push it away himself, but to do so would break the pattern. Sansa took his hand in her own, looked him boldly in the eye, and helped him ease the robe from her shoulders. "Sansa," he let out a heavy breath, meeting her pleading stare with his own. Staring at her with a startled tenderness he breathed the question, "why didn't you tell me?" His rough hands dragged up and down her arms, pulling her close to him. She wanted to laugh, but instead she reached up to kiss him. 

"Why didn't you tell _me_?" She felt breathless at the admittance, silly seeing as he was her husband. _He's never kissed me like this_ , she thought as he held her face between his callused hands. His mouth moved with purpose over hers, hot and soft. When they broke away she held tight to him, running her fingers through the curls at his neck, the scar across his eye stood out against the flush of his face, she had no idea how he got that scar.

He eased her onto the bed, kissing her easily, slowly. _We have time_ , and she realized he knew that too. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was sure he could see it when he planted hot kisses down her throat to the flimsy sleeve of her shift. "Is this all right?" _Yes_ , she wanted to say, then she thought of the marks that marred her back; he sensed her hesitation and made a move to back off. "My beautiful girl," he moved his mouth to her neck again, his beard scratched the thin skin at her collarbone.

"I want you to," she started to say, feeling his tongue on her pulse point. "I just-" he stopped his movements, turning his darkened eyes on her. "They're horrible," she trailed off softly.

"Sansa," he breathed her name. "Sweet girl, nothing about you could be horrible." He spoke with such conviction she could have believed him. As she reached between them he took her hand in his, "for you Sansa, I would wait forever for you." She nodded and urged him up, he looked concerned only for a moment until he realized she was slipping her shift off entirely. If she thought he was attentive before he was near worshipful now.

His thigh was pressed between hers, as he worried a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She wanted him closer still, even as she held his face in her hands kissing him fiercely he was not close enough. He must have felt the same, for he broke away to tug off his shirt. Sansa could feel the scars left from the men who betrayed him as she clung to his back, writhing against his thigh. He helped her in the endeavor, holding one hand against the small of her back, giving her the closeness she so desperately needed. She could feel his gentle fingers tracing her as well, "so brave," he whispered causing her to quake against him. 

He helped her move against him until she was sated, as though every bone in her body was liquid she collappsed against the mattress tick. Jon's fingers ran lightly over the curve of her breast, letting her catch her breath, but building her anticipation. When she finally breathed his name, with eyes still heavy he unknotted her smallclothes. Then he tried to do something she hadn't known any man to do. 

"Jon, you mustn't," she gasped when she realized his intentions, as he nipped at her thighs. He considered her before nodding moving his mouth to the inside of her knee, then ankle.

"Another day then, when you are ready." He pulled himself back up to her side and kissed her deeply when he brought his hand to her instead. She nearly peaked a second time before he pushed himself into her. He groaned into her hair, "my girl," as she rocked up against him. 

It had never felt like this, he always tried to help her find release, but she had never been so close so soon. She took one of his hands and guided it between them, urging him to help her along, and soon she cried out again. He spilled inside her soon after falling at her side. Sansa carded her fingers through his hair, kissing his mouth softly. He shifted her to his chest, and she felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Will it always be like that?"

"For as long as you want it to be," he promised tracing down her arms like he always did. Her eyes felt heavy but she was determined to let him rest first.

"Do you wish to take your leave?" he pulled his face from her hair. "It's just, if you sleep better in your own chambers you needn't linger here until I fall asleep." He sighed. 

"So you want me to go?"

"No," she answered quickly, truthfully. "Gilly said the maester is worried, and truthfully I am as well."

"I sleep easiest when you are at my side." Jon answered gently, stroking down her hair. "When I know you are safe." She pressed herself closer to him.

"I'm right here Jon."

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Bones" by MS MR
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to come and visit my [Tumblr](http://www.sansa-and-winterfell.tumblr.com) where I post updates, fill promts, and fangirl :)


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